


He cried: More, More More!

by Domino62



Series: More Mor/Mor [1]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Alcohol, BDSM, Boys Kissing, Caning, Drugs, Fluff and Angst, Guns, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Knives, M/M, Oral Sex, Restraints, Riding Crops, Threats of Violence, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-30
Updated: 2014-09-16
Packaged: 2018-02-15 05:44:23
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 12,776
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2217963
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Domino62/pseuds/Domino62
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sebby has failed to deliver. The Boss is not amused.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. In the Midnight Hour

**Author's Note:**

  * For [GeekishChic](https://archiveofourown.org/users/GeekishChic/gifts), [distantstarlight](https://archiveofourown.org/users/distantstarlight/gifts), [MyFirstistheFourth](https://archiveofourown.org/users/MyFirstistheFourth/gifts).



> Billy Idol's "Rebel Yell" is now the official theme song of a group of ladies who ship Mor/Mor
> 
> "With a Rebel Yell, she cried More Mor/Mor! More, more, more!"
> 
> The imbedded link is to the photos that inspired this fic.

 

Sebastian Moran took the last drag of his cigarette, flicked the butt into the street, then slipped out of the London rain and into the long black limousine as soon as it pulled to the curb.  He felt, not for the first time, that he was stepping into his own coffin.  The thud of the beast's heavy door sounded so final, like the last nail, sealing him in before he was lowered into the ground.   He said nothing to the man obscured in shadow across from him, but instead covered his eyes with his gloved right hand.  Nothing had gone as planned and there was nothing to be done about it now.   

<http://www.fassinatingfassbender.com/2010/02/two-more-fassy-outtakes-from-vanity.html>

"Look at me, Seb" came that sweet Irish lilt.   He raised the glove ever so slightly and then reluctantly raised his eyes.   Fuck. This was not good at all. "Tiger, do I ask too much of you?" the shadow asked,  the legs were crossed, right over left and the fingers of the right hand began drumming on the door handle, slowly.  "I mean....are you not happy in your work, Kitten?  Do I not buy your enough toys?  Or feed you enough lobster?  Because, for the life of me, I.....just do not understand what I've done to deserve this..... _disappointment_ from you".

"Boss, I ..." he began but the hiss from the shadow stopped his mind from forming any further words.  A chill went up his spine, not for the first time.

"Dont Speak, Sebastian" the soft lilt was back.  "Daddy has such a headache now and I cannot bear to hear your boring excuses and explanations."  the ghost-white face emerged, suddenly, from the shadow. His eyes, usually black and cold like a shark's, now caught the light of the street lamps as the car sped through the city, creating the illusion of a ghoulish internal strobe light behind the unblinking orbs.  Moran had to look away from them and regain his equalibrium for a moment.    

He knew it was no use trying to open the door and jump.  It was locked and would remain so until the other party was good and ready to allow him egress. Besides, he liked this new coat.  Jumping would ruin it and he'd have to return home sometime. Why ruin a jacket and risk broken bones to prove a point. 

"We'll talk later", the boss continued, "When I've had time enough to calm down and get this pretty vision of your exceedingly painful death out of my head....M'kay?"  

Moran sighed deeply and ran his gloved hand over his face.  He was tired and cold and hungry and suffering from another malady as well.  Deep down, he felt it. That itch to receive the  punishment he was sure awaited him once they got back home.  He felt his cock harden and it sickened him.  Moriarty loved to hurt him. And for some damned reason, Moran loved to let him do it.  He stared out the window at the rain.  How the Hell had he let his life come to this? What did he have to show for this deal he'd made with this particular devil?

Everything he wore was purchased by the petite Irishman across from him.  He lived in that man's house and ate that man's food and got royally fucked in that man's bed.  If he was honest with himself, as he rarely was, he'd have to admit that he was nothing more than a whore.  A bloody expensive whore with a particularly rare skill set, but a whore none the less.  Only he'd submitted to atrocities that no self-respecting whore would ever allow.

The damned rain made his knee throb.  What the hell was he still doing in this country?  He should be on a white beach somewhere, drinking too much dark rum and fruit juice, getting sucked off by young, mocha-colored girls with massive tits and tiny brains.  Instead he was quivering in $600.00 hand-stitched Italian loafers because a man 7" shorter than he was in a snit?  He should go on and turn in his man card now. Fuck it. If he was going to pay the price either way, he was going down swinging. He leaned forward, and cleared his throat. 

"Listen, Jim.  I can't do my job if I don't have ALL the information.  This failure is YOURS. Now do you want to fuck or do you want to fight because I'm hard as Hell". Oh, he'd done it now.  He was "all in" and bluffing with a pair of twos.  He felt his heart pounding in his throat and forced himself to maintain eye contact. Any show of fear would seal his fate. 

"Sebastian, my Dearest Love, we shan't be fucking or fighting.  You see, I will be getting a massage and a blow job at The Club, while YOU, my insolent boy, will be shimmying up the rusty drain pipe of the shoddy residence known as 221 Baker Street.  I think a little demonstration of your loyalty is in order, don't you?"

"For Fuck Sake, Jim!"

"No. For YOUR sake, Seb.  You will sneak into 221 B while the lovers are snug in their bed, spooning like the boring old married couple they are now.  You'll then procure Sherlock's treasured riding crop, which is kept in his bedroom closet, and you'll bring that prize to me, on your hands and knees, so that I can blush your perfect ass with it, as I see fit.  Either that OR a great deal of your lovely blood is going to spill this night."

"But...", Moran started, before a small, perfectly-manicured hand rose to silence his protests. 

"Deal or no Deal?"  smirked the little shark in the Westwood suit.  

Moran stared at the Irishman's perfectly shaped eyebrows.  He'd always found them incredible sexy. Now he just wanted to put a bullet between them.  "FIne" he grunted and threw himself back against the Limo's leather seat.

Moriarty rapped his ring on the privacy screen and the limo pulled over to the curb at once. "Toodles" he sneered, turning his attention to his iPhone.  

Moran grunted, stepped back into the London rain and reached for his pack of smokes.  At least he was out of that coffin. For now. 

 

 

 

 


	2. I'd walk the walk, for you, Babe.

 

He took a cab to Baker Street but got out two blocks away from 221.  Approaching on quiet cat feet, he found a convenient shadow to watch from and enjoyed another cigarette.  The rain had lightened up a bit. One thing to be thankful for at least.   It's was now quarter to one in the morning.  The Honeymooners kept odd hours, so it was a toss up as to whether they were even home. He'd watch awhile and ponder his options.   He knew that Sherlock's fuddy duddy brother had the place under surveillance, but this was not his first rodeo.  There were ways to avoid the damned cameras if you weren't stupid and he didn't see the ubiquitous black sedans around tonight.   Just as he was finishing his smoke the door to 221 opened.

He recognized the small frame as that of one Doctor John Watson.  The men walked quickly away from the residence, hands in coat pocket, head down.  Trouble in paradise?  Moran gave him a half a block lead and then began to follow him, a plan forming in his mind.  He watched the doctor enter the pub around the corner. Then he waited from the alley's shadow.  Ten minutes later, John Watson came back out of the pub  He had a paper bag in one hand and his cell phone in the other. As he passed the alley, Moran screwed a very large hand gun into the good doctor's ear.   "Good Morning, Doctor." He hissed, clamping his hand over the smaller man's mouth.  "Drop the phone....Now"    His compliance came quickly.  Smart man.

"Lace your hands behind you now, Doctor. Slowly.  And please know that I would not hesitate to end your Honeymoon if given the slightest reason"  Moran felt his cock harden as the poor doctor dropped his paper bag and followed his captor's instructions.  It was like playing with a mouse.   He took the hand that had been covering Watson's mough and grabbed the bottom four interlaced fingers with it, squeezing hard. He knew it would cause pain in the good doctor's knuckles and alert himself to any hint of physical resistance to his hold.

 "Here's the deal, Johnny Boy. As I said, I need something out of your flat. I have no intention of hurting you or your beloved Sherlock IF you give me this item.  If you don't, I make no promises.  Nod your head slowly if you understand".  Watson nodded his head and let out a slight sigh. Relief?

"Do you know who I am, John?"  Another nod.  "You can speak, quietly. There's a good lad"

"You're Sebastian Moran, I believe" 

"Ah, I'm touched!  Good for you!.  Now.  Since you know who I am, you know what I do and who I do it for, right?"

"yes"

"Do you believe me when I say I won't hesitate to kill you, John?"

"Yes" 

"Do you believe me when I tell you that killing you and Sherlock would bring me pleasure beyond any blow job I've ever had?"

"Yes" 

"Good!  Now, like I said, I don't want to kill you.   It would upset the boss.  He wants you for himself, but I need something from the flat. Nothing important. Nothing worth being shot through the eye socket for, ok?"

"What do you want?"

"Sherlock's riding crop"

"Wha-why?"

"That's not important, is it John?"

"I guess not"

"Good Lad!  You know I'm starting to like you, John.  Oh, what's in that bag anyway?"

"Milk"

"You went to the pub at one in the morning for milk?"

"Yes"

"Married people are fucked up, John"

"If you say so" the doctor replied, making Moran bark out a laugh.  He nudged the gun deeper into the doctor's ear and pushed him forward, toward the flat.  As they turned the corner, he pulled back, signalling his hostage to stop in another dark shadow. 

"Big Brother is watching John" he said turning his eyes upward to indicate the cameras. "So we're gonna pretend to be buddies, OK?"

"OK"

"I'm going to release your hands, and we're going to walk very closely, and all jolly-like right into your flat.  You'll get me the crop and I'll disappear like a bad dream.  But if you try to run or do any other stupid fucking thing like signal them or attempt to disarm me, your new hubby will find you out here with your brain running into the storm drain. Understood?"

"Yes, but don't you think your mere presence will pique the interest of.....Big Brother?"

"You let me worry about that, John." he said, holstering the gun and brining out a very nasty little blade. "I could remove your eye with this before you got a sound out" He grinned, "In fact, my cock is hard just thinking about it. It will be in my left palm, twitching, hoping you give me a reason to blind you.  The gun will be begging my right hand to straight out kill you and then go find a whore to fuck in celebration. Capiche?"   The doctor nodded.  "Good. Let's go." Moran threw his left arm around his new buddy's shoulder and urged him forward.

 

 

 


	3. What sets you free, I need you here by me.

John Watson was not the smartest man in the world. He knew that.  In fact, he'd willingly, gratefully married a man much smarter than himself. An obnoxiously brilliant man who reminded him, almost daily, of his cognitive limitations. So, one could say, he was at peace with his place on the intellectual ladder. 

He was not, however, at peace with his current situation: being intimidated by Moriarty's sadistic right hand.  And while, admittedly, not the brightest bulb on the world-wide string of fairy lights, he knew for a fact that Sebastian Moran's own personal little twinkler was on the fritz...Fucking Big Time.  So, as he felt the other man push him to move forward to join the company of his old friends: chaos, loss and pain, he made a quick decision to throw the dice and take control once more.  Taking a deep breath to center himself,  John resisted Moran's push and instead turned his body into the threat and wrapped his arms gently around its waist, just like a lover would. Moran tensed and John shushed him.

"Hey, hey, listen. Shhh. I have a better idea, yeah?" he nuzzled the greast beast's chest, as the height difference didn't allow much else.

"I'm listening" Moran squeaked. John could almost hear the gears grinding in the assassin's mind. He was obviously more than a wee bit surprised. 

"Lets go back to the pub, get my phone and do this the easy way." He stroked the great back, feeling the power there, coiled and ready to spring. There was something else ready for action now pressing into his belly. John wanted to laugh, so badly, but this was not the time to lose it. 

"Doctor Watson?  Are you coming on to me?" Moran sounded genuinely confused, like a drunk trying to sort high-level maths. Blood must've left his brain, John chuckled internally. Men were so simple.  He felt the beast's muzzle in his hair, inhaling, smelling for fear or cunning.  Another deep breath.  

"Colonel, I'm trying to keep us both alive. You're a military man. Highly decorated. I've seen your jacket.  A marksman, a tactician. A cunning survivor worthy of my admiration. But this plan of yours is flawed in so many ways that I'm doubting you've really thought it through"  The blue laser eyes were on him now. Scanning. Searching for any hint of mockery.

"Look," the doctor continued, "You have a...... _massive_ erection, so perhaps that's depleting your concentration right now.  Very hard to think like that isn't it?   I've always thought so at least".    He reached around and stroked the Moranaconda through the expensive wool trousers. "Oh, now THAT. That is just...lovely" he sighed, like a maiden. He was no expert, but he thought he now knew where "Sebby's" swagger came from. That was some serious meat he was packing. His tailor was also to be commended, John thought.  

"So, I say, let's walk back there, yeah?  We can find my phone, I'll send a text and then we can put that lovely dark alley to use, ok?" John kept his grip on the monster's "brain stem" and offered up his lips to seal the deal.

Sebastian Moran couldn't believe what was happening, but all thoughts of Jim, Sherlock and the damned riding crop were quickly forgotten as he plunged his tongue into Doctor Watson's mouth. His hands grabbed the firm, round ass and, in spite of himself, a soft yearning moan escaped his lips. "Okay", he managed, then dove in for more.

Size wise, the doc was about the same as Jim, but his taste and feel was quite...no...try _completely_ different. Moriarty always tasted of lunacy and sarcasm or blood and tears.  Or maybe Moran just couldn't taste anything good about Jim anymore.  But _this_ man didn't taste of danger and madness at all.  No. This man was.....why he was warm cookies, hot tea, puppy breath and Christmas dinners!  Moran could suddenly picture himself and Doctor John Watson spending many a long sunday in bed trading sexual favors for trips to the fridge. He liked this man, and these nice images. This was.....fuck, this was GOOD!   

When he felt a warm honey sensation spread through his chest, Sebastian kissed the doctor's forehead, softly, reverently. "My God!"  He exclaimed, with wide eyes. "What the fuck are you?"

John blinked up at the Tiger with soft doe eyes. He could feel the great heart pounding in the beast's chest. He stood on tip toes and kissed  the trembling lower lip, softly.  "I'm yours, Colonel. All yours, now".  When he saw Moran's eyes fill with hope, he gently took his hand.  "Come on", he whispered and led the great predator slowly down the street, back toward the pub.  Back toward a dark filthy alley and away from his own beating heart, which he'd left in a clean, safe, warm bed. In a flat, up some old squeaky stairs on Baker Street. 


	4. He lives in his own heaven

The walk back to the alley probably shouldn't have taken more than about 45 seconds but it felt like an eternity because Moran was strolling like he had all damned night.  He kept looking up at, what? The cameras? The moon?  The satellite controlling his brain?  John didn't know, but he suddenly had new empathy for elephant trainers.

Upon arrival, he was thrilled to see that his phone was still there, in the mouth of the alley, blinking near the discarded milk. He pulled Moran into the darkness and kissed him for all he was worth. He had to buy a little time. Surely his beloved detective would notice his absence any moment now (unless he was too tired to wake after 3 sleepless nights).   Surely Mycroft's cameras would pick up something to prompt a further examination of his early morning comings and goings (unless something else interesting was being monitored across the city). 

And even barring all that, he was almost certain that he had to have done just enough good in his miserable life to at least avoid having it end in this alley at the hands of this heavily-armed and massively-hung talking gorilla.  But, if no one was coming to save him, then he would have to use his wits and save himself, Sherlock and a dozen innocent by-standers.  And, if he could just play this right, he might be securely back in bed before 2 with his brain fully intact and Sherlock curled up next to him, or writhing underneath him, screaming his name in gratitude.

*****

After enjoying a very pleasant dream in which John was riding a little pony and going on some kind of adventure, Sherlock Holmes woke to the sound of too much damned silence. The heat-radiating snore machine whom he loved with all of his heart was not in his usual spot beside him.  "Jaawn?", He asked the darkness, rubbing his eyes.  He listened for sounds from the loo. Nothing.  No rustling from the kitchen either.  He checked the clock. 1:05.  He clicked on the bedside lamp and was hit by a wave of nausea.  John's trousers had been there, across the back of the chair.  If he was still in the flat at this time of night he'd have just put on his robe which was.....still on the closet door.  Dammit.

 "JOHN!" He called louder, knowing there would be no response.  He flew out of bed and searched the flat, checking the ensuite twice. Then he returned to the bedroom, grabbed his mobile and sent the first **"where are you?"** text.  He got dressed while waiting for the reply. None came. He checked the drawer of John's nightstand. The gun was still there. "Dammit, John!" He yelled at the gun, then slammed the drawer shut.

Sherlock twisted his new wedding ring around his finger nervously. Should he text Lestrade? After that last embarrassing incident when he texted for "help" with something minor and got the entire yard at his flat, he didn't want to jump the gun again.  Mycroft?  Not until he had something else to confirm his theory that John was in grave danger.  He'd give John a few minutes to respond. After that he was texting everyone in the world including the Royal Navy if need be.  John must be saved. 

*****

John heard the text alert and broke away from Moran's examination of his tonsils. Geezus, the man was ravenous. "That'll be Sherlock texting me" he said, casually.  "Did you still want the riding crop, or..?"

Moran looked at him with glassy eyes.  "Oh.....yeah, yeah. But that can wait", he pulled John closer, grinding his erection on him.  "I'm afraid this cannot though."

John sighed, and looked up into the blue pools peering down at him.   "Have you, uhm, ever actually _met_ Sherlock Holmes?", he asked, expecting the answer "no".  

"Well...No. Cant say that I have. It's bad enough that Jim obsesses over him. He sounds like a right prat, though, from what I've heard"  More grinding and now neck biting too. Oh, goody! 

John laughed, "Oh, he can be, for sure.  Entirely too fond of himself.  Bossy and rude. Comes from old money, feels entitled to the world, but, his _worst_ feature, by far, is that he has no patience. None." he looked to see if his words were having any effect.  He sighed again when the answer became clear.  "Colonel, If I dont answer that text, I guarantee you that Sherlock will call in the whole bloody cavalry and you won't have enough bullets for all of them" 

"Ah, shyte. You're probably right, there. " The big man agreed with a flash of far too many brilliant teeth.  "Well, Bugger."  he shuffled his feet and muttered to himself for a moment before looking back at John.  Well, could I just have a little taste, while you text him back?"  What the....?  John thought Moran looked almost... _shy_.  A fucking paid assassin armed to the teeth wanted to suck him off in an alley in the middle of pre-emptive hostage negotiations!   John stared, stunned for a second then felt the stirring in his own pants and said, "yeah. Alright." 

He scooped up his phone, jumped up onto the lid of a skip hidden deeper in the shadows and began to compose a reply to Sherlock.  He showed the text to Moran who nodded his approval of the ruse, then pressed send and winked at the man ogling his groin. With his left hand, Moran unzipped John's trousers and freed his cock. With his right, he unholstered his .45 Desert Eagle. He pressed the barrel right into John's femoral artery and growled, "be nice" before latching onto John's dick with the gusto of a man half starved. John leaned back on his elbows, closed his eyes and wondered whether this particular "case" was fit for the blog.

*****

Sherlock was just putting on the Belstaff and heading for the door, when the text was finally fucking answered.

**Dwn the pub, Luv. Glad ur up. Got a bet on. Bring riding crop. xx - JW**

Great. John was drinking and betting someone something. Some newlywed he was. Sherlock tapped out an answer in disgust.

**Really not convenient - SH**

He threw his phone down and stripped off his coat. What the hell could someone wager on a riding crop?  He didn't like it when John drank. He did stupid things like this. He was too sociable. Too chummy by half. Besides wasn't it John who always got upset about cryptic texts?  Was he trying to be funny?  He heard the text alert and prepared to fire off another refusal. Instead, he barely made it to the loo before he vomited up what little he'd eaten for dinner. After wiping his mouth he read the text again

**Come anyway, CBD.**

***********

**J** ohn threw up a silent prayer that Sherlock would decipher his little code. But of course he would.  He was a genius.  Moran, on the other hand?   When John had showed him Sherlock's reply and his own response before sending, the fool had asked him what "CBD" meant.   John hesitated at first, but the pressure of that damned gun into his balls loosened his tongue. 

"That is just his, ah, pet name for me"

"CBD?  What's it mean then?"   Moran asked between long pulls on John's cock. 

"Well, I suppose under the circumstances I can tell you.  It, uh, stands for.....Captain Big Dick".   John said as seriously as he could. Moran barked out a laugh and backed away flailing the gun like a man in pain.

"Well, _Captain_." he choked out. "It is _very_ fitting, but you probably should have lied to me"  That huge grin was back.  There was something quite unsettling about it.

"Why's that?", John asked, sincerely happy that Moran had swallowed the lie.

"Because, once I share that with Jim, you and Sherlock will never live it down!"  he was holding his side now, panting for breath.

"Glad to amuse you.  Were you done here?" John asked, motioning to his quickly deflating dick.

"Oh, sorry. Did you want me to finish....Captain?"  The text alert answered that question.

**Be right there - SH**

"Some other time, Colonel.  Sherlock's on his way with the riding crop.  Shall we go into the pub and order a pint. Surely you're thirsty after all....that?"

"Sounds great, but if you're stupid, Doctor, I kill everyone inside and then your beloved Sherlock, Understood?" Moran said as he re-holstered his weapon and wiped his eyes. 

"Oh, I see you're back to your old self now." John quipped as he zipped.  Moran pulled him down off the skip and hugged him tightly to his body. 

"No.  I'm not my old self at all. Thank you, John.  Honestly."

"For what?"

"I couldn't explain it to you, even if I tried. Just know you have my gratitude and respect, alright?"  He looked wistful. The crazy bastard actually looked wistful!

"Alright" John said softly and turned toward the door.  No one was going to believe this story. No one. What an absolute waste! 

"Did you want your milk, John?' Moran asked, grabbing the paper bag up off the pavement and presenting it like an expensive gift. 

"Ah, no. No.  That's fine, Colonel, thank you.  I'll get some more, uhm, later"  

"Please call me Sebastian, John.  I'm not a Colonel anymore. I'm not sure I ever really was one." Looking away again, his voice soft, like a man lost.

"Alright, Sebastian.  Let's go get that pint." For some damned reason, John suddenly felt sorry for Moran and truly wanted to buy him a pint. He wanted to chat with him a bit and find out how a man with such a brilliant military career had lost his way. Did Mortarty have something over him or was it something else.  But before those questions could even make it to the pub's door, Sherlock came screeching around the corner like something out of a cartoon. The riding crop was in his left hand, his mobile in his right. When he saw Moran he froze.  

John was between them in a flash. Moran had his hand on the butt of the .45 and the mad smile had returned.  "Sherlock", John said, calmly holding out his hand.   "Come to me, Sherlock.  Hand me the riding crop and then back away about 20 paces. Do NOT use that phone!"  The tone he used was very familiar to Sherlock.  This was his Captain Watson voice.  The one he used when he wanted to make it very clear that he was not fucking around and needed to be obeyed.  Sherlock hesitated only a moment before deciding to follow John's lead. 

John's eyes were locked on him as well.  He had that steady gaze and that little smile he got when he was absolutely livid and ready to kill...or die.   Sherlock felt fully confident that John Watson knew exactly what he was doing in that moment.  He also knew that if there was ever a time for he, himself, to remain quiet and do as he was told, this was it.  He stepped forward, slowly, and handed the crop to John.  He then backed away, as instructed. He kept his eyes on John, not giving Moran the satisfaction of even being acknowledged.

John turned back to Moran.  "Here you are, Sebastian." he said softly, handing the crop over with a smile and a nod. "Just like I promised, yeah?. Now, did you still want that pint, cause I'm dying for one?" If the answer was in the affirmative, John would see it through, but Moran looked crushed. 

"Ah, No, Doc, uh, John.  I think I best be letting you get home now." he glanced at Sherlock and then back to John. "Ta, for this, though" he said waving the riding crop. "You may have literally saved my life tonight. Not that it's really worth saving, but.. thank you."   The predatory eyes moved back to Sherlock. "You're a lucky man, Holmes" he called down the street.  Sherlock nodded, but did not respond verbally.

Moran then stuck his right hand out to John, who shook it, slowly, after a moment's confusion.  "Goodbye, John" the Tiger said and then bolted down the street like the devil himself was after him. And maybe, John thought, maybe he actually was.

Sherlock pulled out his phone but John held up his hand. "NO!  Don't!  Let him go, Sherlock"

"Like hell I -" Sherlock was exasperated now.  He always wanted to be in charge.

"Sherlock! LET. HIM. GO."  John barked as he stalked over and ripped the phone out of Sherlock's hand.  "I've had enough. Alright? This is not your decision.I want to go home" He walked on, then turned when he noticed Sherlock was not beside him. "Coming?" was all he asked before continuing on toward home, toward sanity.   

 

 

 

 

 


	5. He's out all night to collect a fare

Sebastian Moran walked the streets of London for hours with a stolen riding crop in his hands.  Each time he stopped to smoke another of his few remaining cigarettes, he checked his phone for messages.  And each time he felt just a bit colder inside.  He'd been gone for hours. Hours! No one had called.  No one had texted.  Earlier that night, John Watson had been out of his own flat for maybe 10 minutes before someone who loved him came looking for him, frantically.   When he saw the first hint of the sun's return, he turned and headed for the fate that awaited him in a west end penthouse flat. 

Upon entering Jim's fortress, he listened for signs of life.  Hearing none, he set the riding crop on the cold granite breakfast bar, gulped some juice he found in the fridge and then headed to his suite to shower.  He secured his weapons and stripped out of his clothes, hanging the new suit jacket in the back of the closet. He wouldn't wear it again.  To do so would cheapen a perfect moment he wanted desperately to preserve. 

The hot water stung his cold flesh, but he didn't adjust the temperature.   He wanted to hurt. He needed it. He contemplated the straight razor waiting in the drawer.  He could end it all in Jim's pristine flat.  Make a real mess of things on his way out.  Piss Jim off, Royally.   He could open the slider that led to the balcony off of his bedroom.  From this height, death would be instantaneous.  It wasn't a bad plan.  He'd done a bit of parachuting during his military service.  The rush he got from free falling was second only to the one he got from killing.  This fall would be just like that, except with a more permanent destination. Turning off the spray, he wrapped a towel around his waist and headed to the balcony.  

"Mission accomplished, I see" came the voice from the hallway.  Moran froze.  Maybe Jim would like to fly too.

He turned on him with his Cheshire Cat grin.  "It's rather insulting, really, the way you underestimate me, Jim" he answered at last.

"Oh, Sebby. Don't be cross. I told you I just needed time alone.  I never doubted you for an instant. Honestly".   Moran felt Moriarty wrap his arms around him from behind and he wanted to vomit.  It was like being caressed by a cobra.  The towel was pulled free and dropped on the floor.  Moran felt the snake's tongue between his shoulder blades and gritted his teeth.  "Welcome home",  Jim said, before pushing down slightly on Moran's shoulder. He sunk to his knees without hesitation.  And the crop snapped down on his ass a second later. 

"Count them out loud for me, Tiger. You know I tend to lose count"

"One", Moran hissed between his teeth. Not because he was in pain, but because he was ashamed. 

"Good Boy", Jim purred and the crop came down again.

"Two" Moran thought of Christmas breakfast and having a smiling doctor who loved him

"I think 50 to start, don't you?"

"Three", they could wear each other's dog tags and practice hand to hand combat which would always lead to sex. 

"I really must send Sherlock a thank you note"

"Four", Spain was beautiful. He could teach John to sail off the coast of  Barcelona 

"This crop is perfectly balanced!" 

"Five" he could tackle Jim right now and throw him off the balcony.

"Six" or he could kneel here like the shell of a man he was. Fit for nothing else than this small man's abuse. 

*****

Upon returning to 221B, John Watson did what he always did in the immediate aftermath of a stressful event. He made tea.  Only when he yanked the fridge open did he remember that there was no milk. "Bloody, Buggering FUCK!!!"  he roared at the milk-free appliance. He then kicked the trash bin for good measure before stalking off to the loo.  A hot shower.  That's what he needed now.  A blistering hot shower would set him to rights.  

His hands shook while undoing his buttons, so he reached for a muscle relaxer in the cabinet.  He swallowed it dry. Sherlock would start asking questions soon.  He didn't want to answer any questions. He didn't want to admit to Sherlock or to himself what he'd done to secure their safety.  He didn't want to admit that he felt a bit sorry for Moran. That the man's loneliness reminded him of his own before meeting Sherlock. It was ridiculous, he knew, but he felt a kinship with the Colonel and would not be able to explain that to anyone. 

Hearing the profanities from the kitchen, Sherlock cocked an eyebrow and considered his next move.  His Captain was in a bad way.  When he heard the shower start, his course was clear.  He stripped off and slowly counted to 100 to give John a moment to regroup. When he entered the steamy bathroom, he half expected to be rejected outright.  Instead, John waved him into the shower, then rested his head upon his chest.

"John, what...?" he started. 

"Please don't ask me, Sherlock.  Please. I don't want to think right now.  I'll tell you all about it tomorrow....later. But for now I just want to...be."  John didn't look up, or move. He just stood with his head on the chest of his love. Listening to his heart pump. Letting its steady beat bring him back down to ground.   Sherlock grabbed the soap and began washing John's back, slowly, lovingly.  John wrapped his arms around Sherlock's waist and held on for dear life. 

"I've got you, John.  It's all over now.  I've got you. We're home"

*****

Sebastian was used to being bound and, often, gagged.  He'd done it so many times that he was often able to sleep that way. He was used to being struck and burned and cut and worse.  Jim would hit him and fuck him and say horrible things to him, then turn in an instant and shower him with kisses and apologies.  It was pretty predictable by now so he found his mind wandering away from their penthouse and down to Baker Street.  He wondered what John Watson was doing right now. 

"Sebby!"  Jim shouted.  "God damn it. I asked you a question!"   Jim brought down the cane, again. 

"Oh. Uhm, Sorry.  What?"  Sebastian answered, with no affect to his voice. 

"What the Hell is wrong with you?  Why aren't you into this?" Jim groused as he threw the cane down.  "You are no fun at all, Seb!"

"I'm just not feeling it, I guess."

"Apparently!  You haven't cried or even flinched!  It's like your whole body is numb or something. Are you on drugs?"

"Maybe.  I don't know". 

"You don't know?  Did you see Jesus out there or something?  God Damn!"  Jim unbuckled the restraints and lit a cigarette for each of them. They sat in silence, naked on the bed, smoking and not looking at each other.   When they finished. Jim laid back on the bed. "Come here, Seb" he said reaching a hand out.  Moran climbed up the bed and laid his head on the smaller man's chest. 

"What's bothering you? And don't lie to me" 

"I'm just tired"  he responded. Which wasn't technically a lie.  He WAS tired of this whole damned scene. 

"You don't sound tired.  You sound bored.  Am I boring you, Seb?" Jim asked quietly.  Too quietly.  The hairs went up on Moran's neck.  An insecure Jim was a dangerous Jim, capable of pretty much anything.

"No. I swear, Boss.  I'm just tired.  Give me a couple hours shut eye and I'll be right as rain. I promise". 

"Ok. But it's going to cost you extra, Babe." Jim teased in his sing-song way, stroking Moran's hair.

"Surprise, surprise"  Moran tossed out with a yawn.  Jim was on top of him in a flash, baring his teeth.

"I swear. If I didn't know better, Seb, I'd think you were _trying_ to make me angry. Please tell me you're not that stupid.  

"I'm not.  I'm just tired" Moran reached up and stroked Jim's face and pulled him down for a kiss.  "Don't be that way, OK?"

Moriarty's face softened. He so loved being stroked.  "OK, sleepy head. I'll let you rest up.  And because I'm _such_ a giver at heart, we'll have a big breakfast before we play again, ok?" Jim pulled the covers up over his pet and stroked his head like a parent would. 

Moran yawned and rolled over onto his side. "Okay, Jim",  he managed before drifting off.   

*****

Jim watched the tiger sleep for 5 minutes from the doorway.  When he was certain he was really out for the count, he crept to the hamper and retrieved Sebby's Calvin Klein briefs.  He was in the middle of examining them in the bathroom when he heard Moran begin to talk in his sleep. He crept back over and stood by the bed, listening to the nonsense being uttered.

"Take your milk....I'm sorry.......John....No....just....kiss me.....please"

Moriarty bit his tongue until it bled.  He stalked out of the room, taking the briefs with him.  In the kitchen he examined them again, under better light. Finally, he licked the stain he'd found on the inside of the front of the briefs. He frowned at the all too familiar taste. Why the fuck was there pre-cum in Sebby's pants?  He slowly opened the cutlery drawer and perused his options.  

  

 

 

 

 

 

 


	6. I'll dry your tears of pain, Babe

 

Sebastian Moran came to slowly.  He wasn't entirely sure where he was but the room smelled very familiar to him.  He couldn't get his eyes to focus properly and felt that he'd been kicked in the head by a clydesdale. He'd obviously been drugged and since Moriarty kept a stock-pile of sedatives in the flat, it would not have been difficult.  But, why?

The leather restraints were pulled tight to their moorings. No slack today.  Jim was angry about something or extremely excited. They hadn't fucked in awhile, so it might just be that, but the sedation would not make for very good sex unless Jim had suddenly developed a taste for necrophilia.  He groaned in frustration as he pulled tight against the  cuffs in vain.  

"Oh, Good Morning, Star Shine" that familiar sing-song voice called through the fog of his brain.  When Moran turned toward the source of the sound he saw two blurry Jim Moriartys shimmering  in front of them like a desert mirage.  

"What's going on, Jim?" he croaked.  His mouth was dry and his throat felt raw.   

"Wellll," Moriarty purred, "That's the big question of the day, my little pork chop." He approached the bed, holding something in his right hand.  He wasn't in a suit, sooooo was it night time?  Jim normally liked to wear suits in the day time, didn't he?  So, why was he dressed like....like fucking "Jim from IT"?  

"Hmmmm?"  Moran managed, not yet tracking properly. What was the question? why was he craving french toast and nose kisses?  Damn it, brain. Work!

"Seb, sweetie, Look at me", Jim said, squeezing the joint of Moran's 4th toe between his fingers.  Moran complied as best he could, but Jim was still fuzzy and appeared to be shape shifting too.  "Where exactly did you go last night?"  The pain in his toe increased.

"Ouch" he said, flatly.  "I went to Baker Street, like you told me to, remember?"  The pain stopped. 

"Yes. You did so well, getting my toy for me.  But, while you were out doing my errand, did you..... have sex with someone?"  Pain in the little toe now.

'Uhm...." he thought for a moment.  "No, Jim.  Ouch.  Why?"

"Are you Suuuuuuure, Pet?" the little psychopath teased, rocking back and forth on the balls of his feet with his hands now behind his back. 

"Yeeeeeeeeeeeeeees, Jim. I'm quite sure" Moran answered, feeling irritated. He hated being treated like a child.  Without warning, Jim charged forward and slashed his face with something sharp. Moran yelped and tried to scuttle back into the head board.  The restraints made that impossible.  "Jesus Christ, Jim!  What the fuck was that?"

"That, my sweet Tiger, was for rudeness.  Now,  let's try again, shall we?"  When Moran nodded his compliance, Moriarty continued. "Look at me, Seb" he said softly while reaching under the sheet and running hishand up the inside of Moran's thigh. His eyes never waivered though. They stayed locked on Moran like a cobra.  "Did someone get you worked up last night?"  a soft, manicured hand squeezing his testicle now. "Did someone make you hard, Baby?"  The squeeze intensified "Hmmm?" the little prick smiled now.

Oh fuck, Moran thought.  John!  How did Jim know?  Wait. Did he know?  This wasn't like he'd fucked some whore downtown. He did that all the time and Jim knew it and didn't give a shit as long as he suited up. But letting John Watson get the better of him would be seen not only as a betrayal but also as complete fucking weakness. "I....I....."  he started, but couldn't finish his thought. It's surprisingly hard to thing with another man's hand in a vice grip on your nuts.

"You? You?  Come on, Sebby!" Moriarty whined, "It's a simple question. Answer it now before I really do get angry and do something rash."  Jim moved the hand with the little weapon closer to his groin now, while still squeezing  The pain was instense.  Moran felt the first traces of fear rising inside him.   Jim had always been a creepy little fucker, but this was rather different.  Or maybe it was just the drugs making him paranoid, but the restraints were really making him feel helpless now.  

"Jim. Please untie me." he said, hating that his voice sounded so scared and weak.  "We can talk about...whatever, but I'd like to be untied and get dressed. Please"  He felt something stab into the soft flesh behind his balls.  He screamed. 

"No. I will not untie you, Seb.  You are not in charge here. Are you?" Moriarty barked, before putting his smiling mask back in place. . 

"No. I'm not."  Jesus Christ, get it under control!  "You're the boss, Jim. Of course.  It's your call. Sorry."  The squeezing and stabbing stopped.  Apparently he'd finally said the right thing.

"Quite so, Dear.  Sebby, you know that I don't like secrets." Moriarty whined, plopping down on the bed like a disappointed child.  "And you've apparently got a whopper.  So, here's what's going to happen.  You're going to tell me what happened last night, blow by blow, or I'm going to put this new favorite toy of mine to use in very, very painful ways."  Moriarty wiped his index finger through the blood on Moran's face then drew what felt like a smiley face on his forehead. 

"OK."  deep breath and repeat, "Will you first please tell me what you've cut me with?"

"Oh, this?" Moriarty sang, holding the instrument up to Moran's face. "Why, it's just a little grapefruit spoon.  Designed for such an innocent, happy domestic purpose, but I've been studying it for the last hour and I think it would be the _perfect_ tool for a little D.I.Y. enucleation. What do you think, Sebby?" 

Enucleation?  Had he heard that word before. His brain wasn't working right. It didn't sound fun though, whatever it was.  He blinked up at Moriarty, trying to clear his vision.  That scary smile was in full display. He shuddered and felt his balls climb up into hiding. He took another deep, trembling breath and tried to calm himself. 

"I'm not sure I know that word, Jim and since you've obviously drugged me, I doubt I could remember it if I ever had known it."  Don't Panic, he thought to himself. Fuck, Don't Panic!  

"It sounds almost religious, doesn't it?  Enucleation!  Like some grand, silly ceremony you'd have to endure in order to become a Bishop or some shit."  Moriarty laughed at his own little quip.   "But it's Noooot" he sang, playfully, the grin spreading all across his delighted face. "Enucleation, my dear Sebastian, is rather messy and unpleasant, I'm afraid."   Ever the showman, Moriarty paused for dramatic effect then leaned right into Moran's face, so that their noses were almost touching.

 "It means surgical removal of the eye ball, Babe", he said softly and then winked.   Moran screamed again and Moriarty started to giggle


	7. I'd give you all and have none, Babe

When Moran started to scream, Jim felt an overwhelming need to giggle. "Suddenly, I'm in the mood for grapefruit!" He exclaimed.  He got up from the bed and sauntered away, slow and nasty. When he got to the door, he looked back over his shoulder at Moran "Want some grapefruit, Sebby?" He sang, menacingly, then chuckled some more.  

As he fumbled with his phone to find the number for the all-night grocer he noticed a missed text.  "hmmmmm" he smiled to himself.  "Mr. Holmes himself. Dear me"

**Your hired gun is dead - SH**

Jim stared at the text, frozen in the kitchen.  What the fuck did THAT mean?  His hired gun was in his bed, bleeding and near the edge of tears.  huh. 

**Whatever is wrong, Sherly? - JM**

He pressed send and then went back to the grocer's number.   This was normally and errand he'd send Sebby on or one of the other incompetent minions, but as Sebby was indisposed and privacy was paramount, he took on the job personally.  After an annoyingly long time, someone finally answered his call.

"Yes, good evening.  Stephan Martin here.  Yes, yes.  Thank you. Say, do you have any of those beautiful pink grapefruits from California?.............You do?  Lovely!  I'd like....mmmmmm.....3 please, along with our usual order. How fast can you get them here?...........Yeah?.....perfect.  Just give them to the door man, will you and bill us?.........Great, great.  Thanks ever so.......Oh, you're sweet......OK, Bye now!"  

Jim rolled his neck from side to side. The resulting popping felt so good it was almost orgasmic.  How long had it been since he'd had sex?  The fact that he couldn't remember troubled him just a bit.  He and Sebby used to be hot and heavy.  Back in the old days.  Back when it all was new.  Such a striking figure Seb cut when he first got him into a decent suit.  He could barely keep his hands off him back then.  Trying to work with a constant chubby had been humiliating, but fuck if it wasn't also fun. 

Now Seb seemed angry all the time. Indifferent to his little winks and smiles.  What had gone wrong between them?   Was it inevitable that things just cooled after a bit?   Was Sebby finding his thrills elsewhere?   The text alert sounded

**Moran is mine.  I thought you had a little class left, Jim - SH**

The small smile he'd been wearing grew exponentially.  Well, well, well. Sherlock Holmes was really upset about something.  How delightful! 

**Shall we meet for tea?  It's been ever so long, Luv - JM**

Jim set the phone down and went to the wet bar.  He hadn't had a good dirty martini in what felt like ages.  He liked the big queen olives and popped a couple in his mouth while shaking up his cocktail.   He made one for Sebby too. Although mixing it with the sedative was probably not the smartest of choices.  Ah, well.   If Sebby didn't want it, he'd pour it on him and maybe lick it off, or maybe set it on fire.  It would depend on how their conversation went.  The text alert sounded again

**Why would I meet you for tea? - SH**

Jim chuckled to himself again and felt an odd stirring in his pants. Young Mr. Holmes was curious, was he?   Of course he was. They'd danced around their sexual attraction for years.  But Sherly had to be all boring and marry his little soldier.  Still.  This might be fun. He'd give him something to ponder then.  

**Well then. How about something a little more dark and...filthy? - JM**

Jim turned his attention back to his martini.   A tiny taste, proceeded by three quick gulps and it was gone. Not very gentlemanly, but no one was watching. The Grey Goose hit his blood stream almost instantly.  The warmth of it in his gut was an elixir he dearly needed. He usually stuck to just one but right now, he needed more. He'd just shake up another and then take Seb's into the bedroom for their "chat".   Once more, the bell sounded. 

**What do you have in mind? - SH**

**A private club.  I think you know of it.  You can have a wee chat with Seb about his transgressions. My treat - JM**

Jim texted him the address and time and was about to return to tell Seb the good news when the door bell rang.  "Oh, for fuck sake, what now?" he groused.  He carefully looked through the peep hole to see the elderly door man with his groceries.  He yanked the door open, grabbed the bag and slammed the door in the fool's face. This was no time for charm. He had to think! 

He strolled to the stereo, punched a few buttons and smiled broadly as the beat of his favorite fuck song blasted across the penthouse.  Oh, Yeaaaaaaah, 

 

*********

Sebastian heard Nine Inch Nails pouring from the speakers and groaned.  Well, at least maybe his eye was safe, but his ass was about to take a pounding.  Jim strolled in with his Desert Eagle in his hands.  

"I'm going to loosen the restraints. I want you to roll over and prepare to have them put back in place.  Do not fuck with me Seb. I've been drinking Goose!"  Jim undid the restraint on Moran's left wrist.  "Put your hand on your head"

"Jim, you don't need the restraints" Moran told him. "You have the gun.  I'm not going to fight you. I know I messed up.  Do what you want.  I won't fight"  He saw the look of confusion on Jim's face. 

"Nice try, Colonel.  I know what you are capable of and I'm not stupid.  How DARE you treat me like an imbecile, Seb?  I even made you a Martini!"  

"Jim.  I'm not....OK....fine.  Sorry, I'll do it myself. I know how to work these.  I'll do all but the last one and you can do that since you obviously don't trust me. Which, just so you know, that hurts."  Moran undid the other 3 restraints sat up on his knees, re-applied the ankle restraints, the right wrist and then laid quiety, awaiting Jim's next move.   When nothing happened, he looked over his shoulder. Jim was gone.   The music stopped.   Jim came back with a Martini and unhooked the ankle restraints. 

"Here.  Sit up. Drink this. I made it for you" Moriarty groused. Sounding, again, like a disappointed child.  "I don't want to rape you, Sebby. Damn it"

"Well, thanks.  That.....that means a lot to me"  Moran blinked up at the shorter man in disbelief. 

"Why can't we have fun any more, Tiger, huh?  I just want it to be like it used to be.  Remember?"

"Yeah.  I do"  he sipped the martini. "This is good, Boss.  Real good. Thanks"  he saw Moriarty's little grin return. Jim so loved praise of any type.  "I remember when we first hooked up we couldn't keep our hands off of each other.  When did it all become just about business for us?"

"I don't know. We were younger then, I guess.  We didn't have nearly the pressures that we have now.  Life was one big party.  I miss that"

"Well, maybe we should start delegating a bit more. Go to Spain. Get some rays and drink Sangria. We can get a view of the water and stay in bed for.....oh, how's a week sound?" Moran grinned up at the Irishman with a grin he knew was pure filth.  Jim's pupil's dilated and Moran thought he saw a trace of pink on his cheeks too.  The thing that most people didn't know was that Jim loved to be flirted with.  He loved being told how desirable he was.  He loved being wanted and relished being pursued. "I think we both could use that, don't you?" Moran asked, snaking his free hand up Moriarty's inseam.  He felt him shiver, ever so slightly.  Jim sat on the bed.  

"How's your head?", he asked, stroking Moran's brow and examining the small cut he'd made before. 

"I'm ok.  Probably shouldn't be drinking, but what the hell?"  Moran gulped the rest of the cocktail down. "Go put our song back on, Daddy.   I want to fuck"

 

 

 

 

 

 

 


	8. ...to have you here by me

Sherlock Holmes did not like lying to his husband.  He was perfectly comfortable lying to everyone else including The British Government, but lying to John was something different altogether.  It made him feel sick inside. And that, in turn, made him feel weak.  Fortunately, John didn't question his announcement that he had to meet with Mycroft on a private matter.  Either John was not as smart as Sherlock thought or the Doctor just trusted him implicitly. He was not sure which of these would be a worse truth.

Either way, had John only known his real plans he'd have never let Sherlock leave the flat because these plans required him to visit a most disreputable part of town.  Yes, he was now in an area of London where bad people did bad things to each other and called it "fun".  Even the street lights had been vandalized to permit those nefarious acts to be nefared in darkness.  The pavement smelled of sex and regret.  "Just lovely", Sherlock muttered to himself as he tiptoed over bottles and used prophylactics. 

He got to the club precisely at the appointed hour.  Just as he was checking the time on his phone, the driver's side window of the gun-metal gray Jag idling at the curb rolled down with electronic moan.  A cloud of french cigarette smoke preceded the voice of James Moriarty. 

"He's all trussed up for you in room #3, Lover. " it purred as a pale hand extended out the window.  The hand opened to reveal a single key on a key ring comprised of a brass fob shaped like the number 3.  "He's all yours, Sherlock.", Jim grinned lasciviously "You may do with him as you wish, with just _one_ caveat."  The black eyes bored into Sherlock, clearly waiting for a response.  

"Which is?" Sherlock growled, trying to sound cool rather than concerned.  Nothing with Moriarty was ever straight forward, why the Hell was he here doing this? 

"No permanent... _. physical_ damage to my property.   I know that Dr. Watson had a fright, but he is physically sound."  When Sherlock showed surprise at this, the criminal laughed. "Of course I've seen him, Silly.  It's what I DO!" he barked at the end, showing a flash of anger.  "I know your little wife is fine and I expect my toy to be returned to me intact as well.   Do we have a deal?"  he jiggled the key again as one would display a treat before a child.

Sherlock hesitated, just a heart beat before answering, "Deal" and trying to snatch the key away.  Moriarty chuckled and licked his lips, "Do I have your word, as an English gentleman, Mr. Holmes?'  he teased.   Sherlock wanted to spit on him and leave, but he wanted to hurt Moran even more. 

"Yes. You have my word."  he said, quietly.  He thought of John and the way he looked in that alley, the way he'd been different since that time with Moran. 

"Perfect!"  Jim squealed in delight. "Oh, fair warning. You'll find that Sebastian has a very high pain tolerance, Sherlock.  I hope you don't break before he does.  

"I highly doubt that"  Sherlock said flexing his fingers in anticipation. 

"Well, then.  You kids have fun!" Moriarty winked, then put the Jag in gear and drove away.  Sherlock reached into his coat and fished out the cigarettes.  His hands were shaking.  That simply would not do.  He smoked three cigarettes back to back before entering the club and flashing the key at the bouncer.  The big man nodded and directed him down the stairs.  More darkness, more stench.  Jesus, what was he doing here?  He should be home in bed with John. 

Once he saw Sherlock slip the key into door #3, the bouncer activated the audio-video recording system for that room.  The Irishman had requested a live feed and recording of tonight's session and, as one of the club's owners, he got what he wanted, always. 

*****

Sebastian Moran heard the key in the lock and took a deep breath.  He was not afraid of Sherlock Holmes.  He just didn't want to let Jim down....again. 

"Greetings!" he called out when Sherlock stepped through the door.  Sherlock did not answer immediately. Instead he took in the lay of the room.  They appeared to be alone although he suspected the man upstairs might be watching.   He took off his coat and hung it on the peg by the door. The suit jacket and tie were also removed.

He then addressed Moran. "Do not speak to me unless I specifically ask you a question.  Understood?"  Moran chuckled, which angered Sherlock.  He looked over at the wall, across from the table upon which Moran was strapped. All manner of weapons and "toys" were available for his use.  

"Why are you here?"  he asked while perusing his options. 

"I do what the boss tells me"  Moran answered in a short, clipped style.

"Ahhhhh.  So he's the boss tonight"

"Is that a question?"

"Let's say it is.  What exactly is the nature of your relationship with Moriarty?"

"That's personal, Holmes.  I'm not here to talk about Jim.  So, why don't you just hit me a bit so I can go home?"

"Do you really want me to tell him that you didn't please me?"

"I don't give a fuck what you tell him, Sherlock. It's all going to be recorded by that little bitty camera up there anyway." Moran laughed again.  "Hi, Jim!" he called to the ceiling. "I'm bored!  Can I come home now?" 

"You're not taking this very seriously, Colonel"

"Oh, sorry.  Was I supposed to?"  Moran bared his teeth, but not in a smile.  "Do you think I haven't been tied up and beaten before?  Do you think this is anything new?"

Sherlock blinked at him, not quite knowing what to say to him. "Then why did you agree to come?"

"That's none of your business, Sherlock.  Geezus!  Are you thick?"

"Why would he record us?" Sherlock asked, looking up at the ceiling. He couldn't see the camera in the dim light, but he did not doubt that it was there. 

"HA!  You don't know HIM any better than you know me, Mr. Genius."  

"Excuse me a moment, Colonel"  Sherlock turned and left the room, jogging up the stairs to the bouncer's box.  When the big man looked up at him in surprise, Sherlock leaned into his face. "Turn it off"  he said, calmly.

"Turn what off?" the meat head asked. 

"Turn off the recording equipment for room #3 or I'll have all of Scotland Yard down here in minutes.  Do you want to call my bluff?"

"I have orders...."

"I have the the Yard and MI-6 on speed dial, you imbecile.  Turn it off and you can tell him there was a technical glitch. Don't turn it off and you'll be in a cell within the hour"

"Fine. Fine!"  the bouncer snarled.   Sherlock watched him at the control panels behind the smoked glass and then, satisfied, he returned to room #3. 

Moran looked up to him with curiosity in his eyes when he heard the door open again. "Back so soon, Darling?  Did you bring champagne?" 

"Better. I bring you privacy.  You don't need to put on a show for Jim anymore. It's just we two now."

"Bull shit"

"I assure you. We are quite alone now, Sebastian" Sherlock ran his index finger up the side of Moran's torso and, in spite of himself, the assassin giggled.  Sherlock's eye brow raised and a small smile crept across his face. "Colonel Moran, are you _ticklish_?"

"No", Moran protested, just a tad too loudly.

"No?"  Sherlock asked as he ran his pinky finger delicately up the inside of Moran's left bicep.  Goose flesh appeared and the man shuddered.  "Oh, my". Sherlock grinned down at his prey.  "Does Jim know about this?"

"Does Moriarty seem like the tickling type to you, _Detective_?"

"Oh, that's a shame.  No doubt if he did this...." a light touch on the bottom of the left foot was followed by a whine, "you'd be putty in his hands" 

"OK, you've made your point, Holmes.  Let's move on"  Moran tried to compose his face, but it was too late. 

"Move ON?  Are you Serious?  This is amazing!  Let's see what toys I can find to really make this fun!"  he turned to the wall.   Most of the items he found were meant for pain, but there, among the rest were some feathers and a rabbit's foot. The cat o' 9 tails, if used properly, he thought, might also produce a tortuous tickle. 

When he returned to Moran with the cat, he noticed the man's respiration had quickened.   "You aren't at all concerned about a beating, but a little tickle and you're squirming?  I could torture you with a feather!"  Sherlick sneered.

"If you want to torture me, Sherlock, tell me about how John makes you tea everyday".  Sherlock froze mid-step and turned back to face his captive.

"Excuse me?" He stammered and Moran sighed.

"Torture me.  Tell me about how John takes care of you when youre sick.  Tell me how it feels to fall asleep with him in your arms and  how it feels to wake up to him everyday.  Tell me how he's never hurt you. How he'd die for you." Moran saw the look on Sherlock's face and added, "Or, do I need to tell _you_?" 

"What the hell went on between you two that night?"  Sherlock squatted down so he was eye to eye with  Moran.

"Don't you know?  Didn't he tell you?" Moran's eyes got huge. 

"No. He refuses to talk about it at all. I just assumed you'd terrorized him and enjoyed every minute of it". Sherlock looked suddenly vicious.

"Well, you assumed wrong."  Moran said, softly. 

"Well then, enlighten me, or I'll tickle you to death", Sherlock said as he ran the cat's tails down Moran's chest, lightly. More goosebumps and squirming.

"Your husband showed true courage and cunning that night." Moran's face clouded over as he remembered his time with John Watson.  "His sole mission was to keep me away from you. I obviously didn't understand that while it was happening, but in hindsight, it's one of  the most extraordinary things I've ever seen.  He risked his life for you at every turn. He _sacrificed_ himself for you, Sherlock. His devotion to you....is....so... _pure!"._   Moran's voice actually quaked  with reverence for what he'd witnessed.  He lay there, blinking up at the ceiling, lost in the memory.  After a moment he came back to the present  He stared at Sherlock quizzically, as if just now noticing he wasn't alone in the room, in the world.

"Did....did you _even know?" ,_ he asked, quietly _._ Sherlock now felt his own goose bumps.   He cleared his throat and turned away from Moran's accusing eyes. 

"Well..."  he started.  "John Watson is a...good man. Too good for this world.  Far too good...for...me" he put the cat down where he'd found it.  No longer interested in torturing or tickling. 

"Then we've found common ground, you and I.  He's too good for any of us and yet...you have him.  You lucky bastard". 

"Moran.  If you want a good man, why do you...."

"Don't.  Ok. Just don't.   I told you. I'm not going to talk about him". 

"Well" Sherlock said, a bit too loudly. "This has been fun, but I think I'd like to go home, now."

"Sherlock. You can't send me home like this, mate"

"Like what?  I havent touched you!"

"Exactly.  If I come home in this condition, he'll...."  Moran swallowed and closed his yes. Sherlock could see that he was ashamed. "Please, Sherlock".

The detective reached for the bamboo rod on the wall. "As you wish."

"Go tell them to record it.  He'll want to see it."

"God, no!"

"Yes, Sherlock.  And once you come back down, you cannot speak kindly to me. Do you understand?   It will enrage him".  

 "Yes.  Jim would love to have a recording of me assaulting you.  He'd leak that to the press by morning!"

"You can wear a bloody hood. I'm sure there's a selection of those over there too.  You can tell the man up stairs to zoom in on me. Nothing but your arm would be seen.  He does this all the time Sherlock. Please. He'll already be livid that he can't watch it live!"  Moran was pleading now.  Sherlock felt guilty for not wanting to do this.   Moran could see that.  He was asking this decent man to get embroiled in Jim's fetish. "Or, you know what? Fuck it.  Let me up and I'll go face it alone. You don't need to be involved in this sick shit, Sherlock." 

"But you said it would be worse for you"

"Aye. And it will. But you don't owe me anything"

"I think I do.  You could've killed both John and I in that alley the other night.  But you didn't.  I think I do owe you a great deal"

"For not killing you?  HA.  Then you owe every man in London.  That's a small thing to expect of a civilized man."

"But, that's what you do, is it not?"

"Yes.  At times.  But I do possess free will, Sherlock. I'm not without a conscience, a soul, if you will.  If all you can say for me is, 'well he didn't kill me when he had the chance', then I'm a right poor bastard.  Now, please.  Are you going to do this, or not?"   The door swung open and Jim Moriarty stood in its frame, smiling. 

"Good evening, young lovers"  he sang in his annoying high pitched way. "Are you gonna talk all night or is there some action in our future"

"We were just discussing the details of my plans for him" Sherlock lied

"Oh.  Well, then. Don't let me interrupt.  I do so love a good show!"   Moriarty plopped himself down in the chair in the corner. 

"Just go Sherlock" Moran said, defiantly.  "You don't need to do this"

"Silence, Seb.  This is between the adults."  Moriarty straightened his suit jacket front and reached for his French cigarettes.  He lit one with a stick match and flicked the glowing ember at Moran. It landed on his chest and Moran didn't even flinch as it seared into him.  "He's quite right, Sherlock.  You don't have to do anything, but there will be consequences if you don't follow through".

"Such as?" 

"Well, if you two boys don't stop kissing and get to the rough stuff, your sweet John may end up on this slab in Sebby's stead" he said calmly. "And, unlike you, Sherlock my love, I DON'T PLAY NICE!" Moriaty screamed the last 4 words like a child in a tantrum.  

"You sick, twisted fuck!"  Sherlock yelled back.  

"Oh!  Look who just picked up the plot, Seb." the soft Irish lilt was back.  "Hit him, damn it!  My favorite shows comes on the telly in an hour"   The tantrum appeared to be over. 

Sherlock locked eyes with Moran.  "Go ahead" the captive said.  "We usually do at least 50.  I can flip over half way through if you want"

"Alright"  Sherlock said, hating how his voice shook.   He raised the cane above his head and brought it down across Moran's thigh's. 

"One" said Moran and Moriarty simultaneously.  A red stripe started to rise up immediately.  Sherlock stared into Moran's eyes, asking for forgiveness. 

"Only 49 to go, Sherlock." Moriarty chuckled.  "And while you're caning him, you should tell him what he's done to deserve it.  Otherwise, he won't learn"  

Sherlock raised the can again.  "You kidnapped my husband" he said softly then brought the cane down again and inch below the first stripe. 

"Two"  said Moran, with resignation in his voice.  He had that far away look again and Sherlock was glad for it.  In the corner, Moran giggled.

Sherlock raised the cane again, "You choose to work for an absolute twat!" he yelled and brought it down a bit softer this time. 

"Ouch", Moriarty said in mock offense.  Sherlock raised the cane again and smiled when Moran winked at him. 

"You're a talented man who's throwing his life away for an undeserving little snake!"   Moran actually chuckled out loud after the cane came down.  

"Sebastian", Moriarty growled, "Do you need Daddy to take over?" 

"No. Sir.   I think he's doing fine"

"Alright, you two.  Fun's over" Moriarty rose from his chair.  Seb. I'll see back at home in 30 minutes. Do you understand?"  

"Yes, Sir!"  Moran answered in mock excitement

"Oh, Sherlock.  Do give my regards to John. Tell him he'll be seeing me very soon"

"Oh, come on Jim.  I was fulfilling my end of the bargain.  You never said I couldn't have a little fun while I was at at"  Sherlock swung the cane at Moriarty like a fencing sword.

"Oh, it's fun you want?  OK, I know a place where we can have some fun.  Call up Johnny, I'm sure he'd like to join us"

"I think John has had enough of both of you".

"But this is something you'll both really enjoy. I promise.  How about tomorrow then?"

"No.   I've had more of the two of you than I can stand already.  Colonel Moran, I wish you good luck and thank you again for the other night.  Moriarty, you may keep my reiding crop, because I'm sure that by now it's been contaminated in ways beyond my comprehension.  That, however, will be the last thing you ever take from me. I enj.  oy our little "game", but don't for a moment think that I like you. You use people like tools with no regard to their well-being and..."

"And, so did you, until very recently" Moriarty laughed, "Don't play holier than thou with me, Sherlock.  We are the same, you and I.  I'm glad the little doctor is keeping you happy these days, but I don't believe for a moment that you've 'changed' because of it.  People don't change, Sherlock.  Not you, not me. Not anyone. Sebastian,  you have 28 minutes"  and with that, Moriarty was gone.   Sherlock stuck his head out the door to confirm they were alone again.

"Are you alright?" he asked Moran as he undid his restraints.

"For now, yes"

"I'm sorry. I'm afraid I've just made things worse for you."

"s'right, Sherlock.  Truly.  Although the bastard took my clothes". Moran sat on the table hands folded in his lap, head down. Embarrassed, thought Sherlock.   He thought for a few seconds before stripping off his own trousers and shirt.

"What the hell?" asked Moran

"Take the suit. It's either that or the Belstaff and I'm NOT giving that to you.  The suit means nothing. I have lots of suits."   He then put on his prized coat and buttoned it up.

"I've got no shoes"  Moran said softly, looking down at his bare feet.

"And I have no pants.  We'll both give the cabbies something to think about this morning." Sherlock grinned, briefly then grabbed Moran by the arm.  "Do take care of yourself, Moran.  He really is quite insane, you know?"

"Yes.  Yes, I know.  Give my regards to John, will you?"  Sherlock looked up, but found it hard to look into the tired blue eyes of the man speaking.

"No. I absolutely will not.  He's been through enough.   But thank you for telling me about the other night and for not harming him. I owe you."  before Moran could answer, Sherlock turned and jogged up the stairs and out into the night.  

 

* * *

Sebastian Moran made it back to the penthouse with 2 minutes to spare.  His feet were bruised and bleeding and he was sweating profusely when he entered the kitchen.  There he found Moriarty, eating grapefruit with that heinous little spoon. "

"Ah, you're back"  he chirped, then looked at his watch.  "Well done, you!"  he sprang up from his stool and embraced Moran. "And what's this?   A new suit?"

"Sherlock gave it to me." Moran answered quietly, avoiding eye contact.  'If there's nothing else, I'd like to go take a shower", he tried to pull away, but Moriarty resisted.

"I've got a better idea, Sebby.  Run a bath and I'll wash your hair for you."  He ran his hand down Moran's chest.  "We haven't had a bath in a while and I miss that".

"Whatever you want".  Moran said, flatly and then waited until Moriarty had released his grasp before turning to go to to the bath.

"Sebastian".  Jim said softly.   Moran turned and saw that he was being offered a slice of grapefruit.  He took it and enjoyed the way the cool juice eased his throat.  "Sebby, we aren't them"

"Excuse me?"

"Sherlock and John.  We aren't them"

"I know that, Jim"

"We aren't them, but we can still be...happy...if you want"

"Are you happy, Jim?", Moran asked looking at the Irishman with complete incredulity.

"Sometimes", Jim said, spinning the grapefruit spoon in his hand and smiling, darkly. "Are you?"  Moran hesitated only an instant, before saying the only thing it was safe to say.

"Yeah. Sometimes. Yeah."  When Jim turned his attention back to the grapefruit, Moran started again for the bath.

"It's not in there, Seb.  Don't bother looking."  Moriarty called.  Moran froze. 

"What?" he asked, hesitantly.

"Your straight razor"

"Jim, I...."

"Go get in the bath, Babe.  We can talk all this out...or not, but you won't be cutting yourself tonight."  Jim finished the rest of grapefruit and binned the rind.

Moran turned on the tap to the tub and started to strip out of Sherlock's suit.  When he set the jacket down across the sink a pack of cigarettes fell out onto the floor.  He'd heard that Sherlock had given up the habit, but was pleasantly surprised to find those rumors untrue.  He found matches in the left side pocket and lit up.  As he enjoyed his smoke he examined the marks Sherlock had left on his body.  Not too bad all things considered but he knew that Sherlock had held back. Holmes might not be a huge fan of humanity, but he was also no sadist.   He took a final drag off the cigarette, flicked the butt into the toilet, then slipped into the long black bathtub.  He watched the rain through the window and thought about warm hugs and Christmas dinner.   When the door opened and he smelled the essence of grapefruit, his thoughts turned, once again, to coffins.  

 

 

 

 

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**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The line about Nefarious acts being nefared in the dark was borrowed from my friend Mark Morris. He tossed that away in a FB comment and I asked if I could use it. Ever the gracious Englishman, he let me use it.


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